


for crying out loud, settle down (you know i can't be found with you)

by swimthewholeriogrande



Series: if you wanna find love then you know where the city is [3]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fever, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Medical Procedures, Near Death Experiences, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 07:28:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimthewholeriogrande/pseuds/swimthewholeriogrande
Summary: While the Manhattan boys fight to save his life Race, deep in fever, relives his relationship with Spot.





	for crying out loud, settle down (you know i can't be found with you)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back baby  
> all the titles are from the 1975 songs you should check em out! enjoy

The first time Race heard of Spot was two years before the strike. By the time he got down to the wagons to buy his share of papers that day, every boy was abuzz with the news of a new leader of Brooklyn, this short spitfire that rose through the ranks seemingly within days. There were already a million rumours about how he'd done it - murder, bribery, plain old seduction of Pulitzer's wife - and Race helped spread them with more gusto than he sold his papers with that day. He was Manhattan's biggest gossip but hey, had to be known for something.

By the end of the day the city's working children were passing the name with reverence that befitted a real king and not just a leader of orphans; Spot Conlon. His height would soon become the most avoided topic of conversation as people realised just how fast it got them soaked, and just how powerful he and his boys were in the grand scheme of the less-than-grand lower-class. Spot was brand new and shiny and all-consuming and Race was so obsessed with the legacy already forming that he spent half his time at Sheepshead just looking for Spot.

It would be nine months before he really saw Spot for the first time. And hell, if they made a headline out of THAT event, Race could've sold it faster than you could say Brooklyn.

-

Spot was running so fast it felt like his lungs were gonna burst, hot on Kelly's heels as he led them to the Manhattan lodging house. He blamed his being slower on Race, who had now become complete dead weight, but when Kelly had tried to snatch him out of Spot's arms Spot had positively growled.

"What the fuck?" Kelly had yelled again, but Spot had just shouted back that there wasn't time to explain, they had to get Race to safety. Racetrack's life, ultimately, trumped the petty war. They had all taken off towards the lodging before saying another word.

When they finally arrive Spot half-staggered through the crooked door, finally accepting Crutchie's helping hand at his elbow. The newsies lounging on their beds let the conversation die as they took in the scene. So many hard, accusing eyes fell on Spot that he actually felt a little fear before Kelly started barking orders.

"Elmer! Get Davey, he knows about this kinda shit. Albert, stop gawping and find the medical bag. And Crutchie for the love of God get all these kids outta here!" 

There was a brief pause where no one moved and Kelly snarled furiously. 'Yeah, it's Spot." He seemed to tower suddenly. "Ain't what's important right now. You want Racer to die or what? Get moving!"

The room spun into action and Spot finally put Race down, his arms screaming in protest. He looked far worse in the candlelight, sweat and congealed blood glistening on his face and his eyes screwed tight in pain. He thrashed when Kelly smoothed his hair back. 

"He's burnin' up." Jack said grimly and Spot wanted to scream no shit, Kelly! "Where the hell is Davey?"

"I'm here!" The enigmatic second-hand came skidding in, looking even more stressed than he had in Pulitzer's office. "What the hell happened?"

"He got jumped." Spot replied shortly, sick of the question. Race coughed and blood bubbled on his saliva, and Spot felt worry like a physical pain. "Can one of yous DO something already?"

Albert had come back with the medical bag at this point and Davey grabbed it, rifling through and pulling out rusty scissors. He started to cut Race's vest away, exposing a vivid tapestry of purple and black, and Spot turned away before he had to vomit. Surely this couldn't be real.

There was the dry pop of a joint sliding back into place, and Race screamed, a man on fire. It was real.

-

When Race eventually did meet Spot for the first time, he almost got his ass kicked. He was betting at Sheepshead - and not doing too badly - when someone came and dragged him out by the collar without so much of a hello. 

Race was swinging at him and positively caterwauling by the time they got on the street and he got pushed roughly away. He spat out his cigar and shoved it in his pocket so he could swear like the moment deserved. 

"Ain't no rules about at Sheepshead!" he shouted at the offender, pulling his collar back into place, "Youse got something to answer for, jackass, if you think you can walk in like the world's your erster and -"

"Erster?"

Race's rant died in his throat. He spun around and looked properly at the newsie he was yelling at, only to see none other but Spot Conlon, eyebrows raised to high heaven. For a moment Race couldn't think of a single thing to say for the first time in his life, and then his mouth kicked into gear faster than his brain.

"You think just cause you's king of Brooklyn you can pull me 'round but let me tell you something, Spot Conlon, I can be here whenever I want -" Race cut himself off again when Spot held up a hand.

"I never said you couldn't." he said calmly. "I wanted to ask you if you sell here."

Race straightened his cap, wrongfooted by the lack of aggression. "You knows I don't." he muttered. "I ain't got a death wish."

Spot cocked his head. His gaze was boring into Race's with enough intensity to make his knees shake. Jesus, that's a pretty boy, Race thought, and then brushed it out of his head with the same swiftness he got rid of all thoughts of that nature with. Uh uh, not today.

"Not gonna kill you," Spot replied, sighinh. "Can't say I won't ever soak ya, but I've heard good things bout you, Racer. Heard you spend half your goddamn day here - might as well sell at the same time."

Race's eyes went so wide that it felt like they were going to pop. Before he could stammer out another word, either a thank you or a fuck you, Spot was already starting to back off. 

"See you round, Racetrack." he called, and Race, although utterly confused, thought dear God, I hope I do.

-

Davey had been working on Racetrack's broken body for about ten minutes now, and he didn't look much better than he had when Spot found him in the first place. Every time Davey found a new injury he would mutter it to himself, and every time it made Spot wind up a little tighter. 

"Broken nose...dislocated shoulder...Jesus, that's a lot of broken ribs...what, did they try and snap his leg? Animals..." 

Race was barely moving apart from the jagged rise and fall of his chest, his breathing growing slower and more shallow by the minute. Spot couldn't help but card his fingers through Race's hair, only stopping when Davey went to attend to the head wound matting his hair with blood, for once not caring what the others thought. With Race in this state it could he construed as simply keeping it back from his face anyway.

"He's real bad." Davey said eventually, stepping back. "Isn't much I can do - I reset his shoulder and bandaged the bleeds, but he's gone all hot. I don't know when he'll wake up."

The word 'or if' hung in the air between the boys like a guillotine. Spot swallowed hard and looked to Kelly, knowing he only had limited power outside his borough. He also knew he owed an explanation.

"I was gonna meet him, tell him to stop selling at Sheepshead." He was shocked at how rough his voice was, but Kelly just gestured to continue, face impassive. "He never showed."

"And?" 

Crutchie was glaring at him from the shadows of the room like a very angry puppy. Spot met his gaze steadily, unwilling to be intimidated. "And my boys is pissed." was all he said.

Jack let out a long sigh. He patted Davey's arm and stood from beside Race's bedside. "We gotta talk, Conlon." He sounded so weary that Spot wanted to yawn. "Racer'll sleep now. We gotta talk."

"Yeah?" It took everything Spot had to stand and move away from Race, to not bend down and kiss him to see if it would wake him from whatever feverish nightmare he was having. 

"Yeah." Jack jerked his head towards the door, towards the rapidly darkening streets. "We got business."

-

Race started to see Spot more and more when he began to sell at Sheepshead. Jack hadn't been thrilled at the prospect but it was a good spot, and he'd been getting along okay with Spot at the time. New borough leaders never pushed boundaries too far at the beginning, which meant good territory for Manhattan. 

So Race went with Jack's blessing and he went often. He'd spend most of the day selling, then betting, which was when Spot usually showed up. He was by no means soft with Race - he ragged him mercilessly half the time and spent the other half shamelessly plugging for information on Manhattan. Race was starting to think that was the only reason he was there - but it was worth it. Spot had a magnetic pull that kept Race firmly and happily at his side whenever he could be.

It wasn't right, or good, or anything the nuns would call holy - but it was enough for Race, these little interactions, to keep him going. He didn't expect things to improve, and they didn't for a long time - until one day Spot arrived antsy and fidgety, uncharacteristically nervous.

"What's up?" was all Race could get out before Spot was dragging him out of sight, his hand strong and sure and firework-creating on Race's wrist. Dazed, he had no clue what was happening until Spot was suddenly very close to him, his breath hitting Race's lips.

"This okay, Racer?" Spot asked, voice firm and yet unsure at the same time, and Race was nodding as fast as he could before Spot kissed him hard, so hard that Race saw stars and blue skies and so, so much light, the brightest sin. 

-

Race, unconscious and burning, smiled briefly in his sleep as Davey scrubbed the blood from his forehead. In so much pain and heat and terror, his mind continued to run wild to better times - until the fever consumed even that, and there was just inky black and fire.


End file.
